The Farron Blood
by AlexisChristofori
Summary: In the feudal Kingdom of Bodhum, the aging King requires his eldest daughter, Claire the Lightning Steel, marry to ensure the bloodline before his passing. Being quite smitten with her sister, Serah, this sits ill with Claire. But duty to blood and to kingdom cannot be ignored, and the Lightning Steel's adherence to duty is legendary. Much hinges on the Claire's decision.
1. 01 - In Which Sleepiness Wins Over Fun

_Author's Note: So here's another piece of evidence that my ability to focus my thoughts is completely lacking. _Another_ chaptered random story! Another of which involves characters I do not own, represented in Final Fantasy XIII, etc etc. If I did, the first game would have ended much differently, and the 2nd would be unrecognizable. Anyway, unlike my other FFXIII fics, this one focuses on Farroncest, with occasional mentions of brief Flight in the past and incidental Fanille in the present. If either of those make you fly into an unstoppable rage, you may need to address whatever latent issues you have. Oh, and also click to a different fic or something. So anywho! Let me know what you think, please! And we'll see where this leads._

**Chapter 01**

_In Which Sleepiness Wins Over Fun_

"This one seemed..." the red-haired girl trailed off, her youthful features screwed up in thought as she searched for an appropriate word, "nice."

Claire Farron snorted derisively at the word she'd landed on and resisted the urge to cross her arms across her chest. Doing so would only make their undressing her take that much longer if they had to pry her arms open again. "His chin's too hard," she answered instead, flexing her fist experimentally and feeling the now-familiar ache in her knuckles.

"And that's exactly how we know he's so nice," rose a more stern voice from Claire's other side. "If he wasn't, we'd have an incident on our hands after you punched him." Few of the servants dared to use such an accusatory tone against the elder princess, but Lebreau had been both servant and friend to her for as long as she could remember, and significant allowances were made.

And Vanille was likable and dependable enough that if she snickered at the comment, Claire ignored it and continued instead to stare straight ahead at the sconce on the wall.

A few moments later, sounding apologetic, Lebreau spoke up again. "Though it was _extremely_ inappropriate of him to proposition the Lady Serah like that..."

"Damn right it was," Claire answered. The growl that deepened the words considerably hurt a little bit; her throat was already well-irritated by the shouting match she had had with the insolent upstart. _'Snow. What a stupid name for a man.'_ Her lips curled just thinking about him. His smug grin, that dusting of facial hair that made her want to slap him and tell him to shave it or grow it out. That cavalier attitude with her sister...

With an expert touch, Lebreau finished unlacing the back of Claire's dress and pulled it open. Claire took a deep breath automatically as the stiff material released her, and wasted no time slipping her arms out of the tight sleeves as Vanille and Lebreau helped to pull it off. Once free, it was easy to step out of the rest of the dress. Without their help, she wriggled out of the two layers of silk shifts beneath it, then allowed Lebreau to remove the ridiculous looking pantaloons that had recently become standard wear in the winter for ladies beneath their dresses.

When she was _finally_ fully undressed, Vanille and Lebreau helped her into her nightgown, but she batted their hands away when they moved to begin lacing the front up so that it didn't gape open.

Lebreau smiled knowingly and jerked her head to the side, and Vanille nodded. They gathered up Claire's discarded clothes and moved toward the door. "Is there anything else Milady needs?" the dark-haired young woman asked, her grin as much in her voice as it was on her lips.

Claire frowned in their direction, not at them, but thoughtfully, then shook her head. "Just send Fang in," she answered. She didn't wait for them to reply, but started pacing, restless, from one end of the spacious room to the next while they bowed themselves out. The silken gown whooshed rhythmically with the speed of her gait, and those pink locks that were free of her nightly ponytail fluttered behind her. She hadn't time to make more than two passes across the room before a tall woman strode through the door that Lebreau and Vanille had exited through.

Though she was dressed in the standard guard's uniform of silver chain and plate with the blue Farron surcoat depicting two crossed swords of blue on a field of silver. The plate was more decorative than functional, but allowed for greater movement and comfort than the real thing did. Her gauntlets and sabatons were the standard, though, shined to be as bright as the dress armor was so as not to look out of place. Unlike most of the guard, the sword on her hip looked barely used, the leather of the hilt still looked fresh-wrapped. Instead, the glaive she held in her right hand was worn and well-loved looking, the blade chipped and dinged, though it still shone. Her helm was under her left arm, balanced against her hip, and she sketched a bow at Claire before standing back up straight at attention.

The princess waved a hand at her, and Fang flashed a grin as she relaxed and sat the uncomfortable looking helm on the clothes chest at the foot of Claire's bed. "You called, Your Ladyship?" Both title and tone were teasing, and managed to prompt the first hint of a smile on Claire's lips since lunch.

She halted her pacing and turned to face the taller woman, and she felt her cheeks color over when the Pulsian's gaze dropped brazenly to the gaping front of her dress and she grinned wider. If it was Fang, though, she didn't terribly mind. They had had their fun in the past, but it was in the past. It didn't mean they couldn't enjoy a glimpse on occasion. "Increase the guard on Serah's rooms by half, for the duration of Villiers' stay."

Fang raised an eyebrow, and her expression turned more serious. "Because of this afternoon?"

Claire nodded and flexed her fingers again instinctively at the memory. Still sore. "I don't think he would do anything _too_ drastic, but he seems the sort to damn the rules and do as he pleases if he thinks it's not hurting anything. And he knows it's highly unlikely the Council would support a marriage between he and I. Serah's a much better candidate for that, since he's not a foreign noble but a local one." Her scowl darkened and she could see Fang fidget out of the corner of one eye, looking half like she wanted to step closer.

"So increase the guard by half, shuffle some from my father's guard if you need to; I'd rather have the more reliable ones on her until then." Which was not to say she undervalued their father, but he was old, frail, and not likely to last long anyway. Assassinating him would do very little for _anyone's_ political schedule, and would only put a very angry young woman on the throne in his place. "I don't care what that man _says_, he may not see her without her and my permission."

The lieutenant nodded, rather than saluted, and Claire offered a small tight smile. "Keep her safe for me, Fang."

Fang smiled wryly and crossed the room of her own volition to lay a hand reassuringly on Claire's silk-clad shoulder. "I think you'll do more than well enough on your own, Lightning Steel," she commented with a wink, "but we'll keep him from crossin' any lines, you can bet on it."

The princess raised a hand to rest on top of Fang's and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you. You're dismissed, then." Her smile changed a little, she knew, but she couldn't help it. Couldn't help almost _anything_ that she did when she thought of Serah. "And make sure there are no interruptions tonight." The words came softer, and Fang's smile grew warmer as she nodded.

"All's gonna be quiet tonight, I think," she mused exaggeratedly, as if foretelling the future somehow. Claire allowed herself a chuckle before leaning in to kiss the woman's dusky cheek, then turned away from her.

She could feel Fang's grin as she collected her helmet from the chest and returned to the door. There was a very distinct noise when she saluted, the way the steel of her boots scraped across the floor and then clicked together, and then like the wind she was gone. The door clicked closed.

For years Fang had done exactly as she promised; none would enter either her own or Serah's rooms this night. From her bedside table, Claire grabbed a candle in a little holder that rested comfortably in one hand and started to the secret passage that connected her own suite and that belonging to the younger Farron.

* * *

A quarter candlemark later, on the opposite side of the castle's residential spire, Claire stepped heavily on a switch in the dark passage. In response, the wooden wall in front of her shuddered and began to slide to one side, and she narrowed her eyes against the light that flooded the tunnel. As comfortably as if they were her own rooms, Claire stepped out of the tunnel and blew the flame on the candle out, then laid it on one of the shelves of the mobile bookcase. No way to forget it, there.

"Serah?" she called into the chambers; the girl's receiving room was empty of all but furniture and various knick-knacks, tapestries, and paintings that she had collected over the years.

"I'm in bed!" came the answering cry from the next room over.

'_She sounds tired,'_ Claire thought as she crossed the plush carpets Serah had begged their father for, her pace stepping up more quickly with the promise of being with Serah soon. She passed through the doorway into the bedroom with slowing, and closed the door behind her. Like her own, Serah's bed was an enormous canopied affair, with plush curtains hanging down on both sides and at the end. Serah had one side down, to block the window on the adjacent wall, but the others were still pinned up along the bed frame. The heavy comforter on the bed matched the curtains perfectly, but of some softer material that Claire didn't know the name of. The patterns of stars that were in the night sky, replicated perfectly in blues, blacks, and purple, seemed to swallow up the girl laying in the middle of the bed, propped against a veritable wall of pillows.

Where Claire's bed was simpler and more austere, purely for sleeping, Serah had loaded hers with every plush and comfortable thing one could want. Including herself. As Claire drew closer, coming around to the open side of the bed, Serah pushed the covers down from where she had drawn them up to her chin.

That they were related was evident in almost everything about them. Their hair was the same shade of sugared pink, though Serah's allowed hers to grow out a little bit further. Claire's face was a little more angular, a little sharper, while her younger sister's was rounded, more open, and far quicker to smile. Whether due to age, or simply the way it was, Claire was the taller of the two by several inches, and generally lankier of frame. Her time in the guard had made her lean and tough. Serah had been exempt from the compulsory conscription, though she still diligently attended riding and archery practice, but tended to prefer staying indoors with her books and the small children. Were they not in line for the throne, Serah had confided once, she would have liked to have been a teacher.

"You look tired," Claire murmured as she slid beneath the heavy blankets. Serah let go of them and they fell over her, trapping the two beneath their weight.

Her sister smiled sleepily at her and nodded as she squirmed a little to one side, to make more room for Claire in the middle. "I am, kind of. Sorry." She reached out, slipping one hand past the gaping front of her older sister's nightgown and stroking soft fingers down her sternum and between her breasts, then back up so that she could slip her arm around Claire's neck. "You look like _you_ were ready to be up for a while."

The Lightning Steel, as she had been nicknamed after her calling by Anima, caught the smaller girl's other hand in one of her own and raised it to her lips to kiss her palm. "As long as I can hold you, you need not apologize."

Serah giggled and as she cupped Claire's cheek in her hand, the older girl nuzzled against the soft palm. "You know if you were this sweet all the time, dignitaries wouldn't yell at you," she admonished quietly.

Lebreau and Vanille had only managed to rekindle Claire's anger and frustration by bringing the subject up, but from Serah's lips it made her feel just a little bit sheepish. In _her_ arms, everything else seemed a little further away, a little less important than it had a few moments before. Enough that she could be almost playful about the same subject that had led to her punching that smug looking bastard. "If I were this sweet all the time, you'd be jealous."

"Mmmm, I would, wouldn't I?" As much as she loved the girl's quiet laughter that came with the answer, Claire only let it persist a moment before she quieted it with her lips to Serah's. She could feel her sister's continued chuckles in the way her stomach moved against Claire's, and the elder Farron redoubled her efforts to distract her from her amusement. Eventually, she managed to distract her to the point she could pay attention to nothing but keeping up with the press of Claire's lips and her tongue, playfully dodging Serah's own.

But true to her word, or to the spirit of it, Claire drew back after a moment and sighed quietly, her forehead pressed against Serah's so their eyes were so close she could see little else. "And yet _someone_ is sleepy, isn't she?"

Before she could manage an answer, Serah gasped in surprise and squirmed wildly in the middle of the big bed, chased by Claire's fingers tickling at her lower back, where they had long ago learned she was most sensitive. There were, probably, pleas for help mixed in with the raucous laughter and deep gasps for breath, but one could be forgiven for not noticing. At least not until Serah had fallen limp, gasping for breath and unable even to keep squirming.

Satisfied, Claire propped herself up on one arm and let her hand come to a rest on Serah's stomach as she looked down at her. Hair mussed, eyes red from laughing herself to tears; and she still seemed like the most beautiful girl she could imagine. "I suppose I should let you sleep tonight, shouldn't I?" she asked when Serah was breathing (almost) normally again.

The smaller girl's stomach rose again beneath Claire's hand, and then fell as she heaved a heavy sigh. She opened dark blue eyes to meet Claire's and nodded, looking a little sheepish. "I _am_ really tired, and I'm supposed to ride with Father out to the edge of the capitol tomorrow." She winced, seemingly at just the thought, and wriggled to get more comfortable on the bed. "I can already imagine how sore I'll be tomorrow night."

Claire smiled, as only she did when it was she and Serah, and lowered herself back down fully to lay beside her. "Then I think an extra long, extra hot bath is in order for tomorrow evening, don't you?" she asked, moving her hand down along Serah's side and tugging her to lie flush against her.

Serah giggled and turned onto her side facing Claire and buried her face against the older Farron's chest. She pushed the nightgown's material aside with her nose, and Claire chuckled at the feeling of her breath against her chest as she snuggled up close. _'We can talk about the marriage problem tomorrow,'_ Claire decided, the thoughts distant as she focused on the feeling of Serah's warmth, the feeling of her heartbeat, and the way her fingers twisted in the material of Claire's nightgown to keep a good grip.

True to her word, Serah's fingers loosened and her breathing slowed within minutes, and Claire smiled to herself. "Good night, my love," she whispered into the strands of pink that tickled her chin and nose, then kissed the top of her head. With the same military training that allowed her to push pain and doubt aside to do her duty, she pushed aside thoughts of duty and heartache and welcomed blissful sleep.


	2. 02 - In Which a Visitor Approaches

_Author's Notes: For some reason, this particular story is coming surprisingly easy to me; I hope that's a good sign! Once more, Farroncest at its core. If that's not your thing, well, the internet's a big place, go have fun in it. I've been flattered by the feedback the first chapter got, and would like to again thank all the people who've reviewed it! I hope to continue being worthy of your views!_

**Chapter 02**

_In Which a Visitor Approaches_

It was an impossible feeling to describe, but even deep in sleep, Claire was able to differentiate between Serah moving and shifting as she slept, and Serah getting up out of bed, however carefully she tried to do so. Icy blue eyes fluttered open just as Serah's feet touched the thickly carpeted floor. She must have made a noise, though she wasn't conscious of it, because Serah stopped just short of standing up and looked over her shoulder, then cast her a warm smile and leaned in to press a soft kiss against her cheek. "Good morning, Claire."

"It is," she croaked in answer as she pushed herself up to a sitting position against the pile of pillows and blinked into the dimly lit room. At the foot of the bed, Lebreau and Vanille perched on one of Serah's chests. Lebreau wore a knowing, catlike smile that made even Claire want to blush uncharacteristically, and Vanille still looked embarrassed, even after several years of knowing what went on in the younger Farron's room. "And good morning to you two," she added, in a tone closer to her normal voice as her throat started working again.

"Good morning, Milady," Lebreau answered, nodding her head deeply at her instead of standing to curtsy. Like Fang, she was afforded more slack in those regards, at least privately.

When Serah had finished stretching, the little noises she made while doing so drawing a smile from Claire that rarely showed up outside of their rooms, she started toward the foot of the bed and Lebreau and Vanille stood up to meet her. Mornings and evenings were Claire's favorite times of the day, when she could take off the weight of appearance and duty like a heavy cloak and be herself. She had known their more personal servants so long, and had trusted them nearly as long, she minded less being who she was with them, rather than who she had to be.

Reclining in the pillows, she watched with half-lidded eyes as the two servants disrobed Serah and gave her a quick morning sponge bath before helping her into her riding clothes. Like Claire, Serah preferred to wear trousers when she went riding, rather than fighting with a gown or dress the entire time. Particularly on long rides, as she was going on today.

Which was perfectly fine, by Claire's judgment. Serah looked good in everything, but seeing her in the form-fitting riding pants was a rare and very enjoyable treat. When she was dressed, Serah motioned with one hand to Vanille to follow and came back to sit down on the edge of the bed, closer to Claire. With a nervous bow for the older princess, Vanille sat down on the edge of the bed behind Serah and set about taming her hair into its usual one-sided waterfall of pink.

Claire scooted over to the same side, though still half under the blankets, and reached out to take one of Serah's hands, resting them both on the younger girl's leg. "Which of the guards are going with you and Father today?"

Serah settled her other hand on top of their joined two and gave Claire's a little reassuring squeeze. "Captain Amodar himself is going to go," she answered, and giggled when her older sister's eyebrows rose sharply.

She didn't take long in recovering though, and nodded. "Good; he and a contingent should be sufficient."

The bed shifted as Serah leaned in closer, a scant few inches from Claire's face, and blinked wide curious eyes up at her. "It's not like we're at war or something, you know," she pointed out, her nose wrinkled slightly in distaste at the idea that they would be.

'_Not yet,'_ Claire thought, but tried not to let her unease show in her expression as she tilted her head a little bit and answered with a soft kiss that Serah seemed only too eager to return. "We don't need to be at war for me to want to keep my heart safe, do we?" she whispered, low enough that even Vanille couldn't hear, close enough that her lips formed the words against Serah's.

As she had hoped, her sister blushed dark before pulling away and shaking her head. Behind her, Vanille stifled a noise of frustration as she lost her grip on the half-formed ponytail and the ribbon fluttered down onto the blankets. "Now, sit still so Vanille can finish," she chided gently, her eyes twinkling in the dim light.

Serah half-nodded, but caught herself with an embarrassed little blush and held completely still while Vanille finished tying the ribbon and Claire's thumb stroked the back of her hand. When the red-headed young woman pronounced her done, Claire drew her in for another kiss, this one longer but gentler still, before giving her hand a squeeze and releasing it. "I'll have someone keep a watch out; when you get back, there'll be a meal and a hot bath waiting," she promised firmly.

Serah beamed back at her and nodded. She looked far more excited at that aspect than at the long ride facing her. For all that she loved animals, she sat a horse so poorly. If it weren't for strict training by a number of governesses, her lack of skill would have shown in a bow-legged walk afterward, but that had been swiftly beaten out of her.

At least, when she was out in public.

With a final little wave to her older sister, Serah slipped out of her bedroom and back into the rest of her rooms, with Vanille following along.

"Are you getting up now, too, Milady?" Lebreau leaned back comfortably against one of the bed posts, once more seated on the chest at the end of Serah's bed.

Claire reclined into the pillows again, taking over the spot that Serah had been sleeping in not too long before. Though they both used the same shampoos, there was just something different about Serah's scent, and as she laid back into the great mound of plush pillows, she breathed it in deeply. Not as good as still having Serah there, but close enough. "What time is it?"

"It was just after five when we woke Princess Serah," the servant answered, her tone thoughtful. "I would imagine it's nearer to six by now. I could go find out specifically, if you would like?"

The pink-haired young woman waved a hand dismissively and shook her head. "Wake me at seven."

"Yes, Milady." Cloth rustled and slippers whispered against the carpet as Lebreau stood back up and crossed to the door, and Claire put her out of mind for the moment. The more sleep she could get now, the less inclined she would be to doze through the council meeting later.

* * *

The council chamber was unusually quiet, given how full it was, but Claire refused to look back at the table until it was announced that all the councilors present in the capitol were gathered. Instead she remained beside one of the tall arched windows that sat at even distances all around the circular room, her back against the rounded stone and one arm resting on the sill. It was, by far, her favorite of the windows, offering a glorious view of the southern side of the capitol and the endless stretch of water beyond it, the ocean that separated the Cocoon continent from Gran Pulse.

Tiny black dots bobbed on the water, distant ships either fishing or bringing in their catches thus far. The occasional splotch of white was likely the much larger shipping vessels and their massive sails, coming or going with a hold full of goods. Though the land claimed by Bodhum was not inhospitable, it was much easier to use the sea as their primary means of travel, trade, and gathering. The mountains that formed the country's northern border wrapped from the eastern coast all the way to the west, leaving only one side of the country open by land. Ships tended to be much faster.

And Claire had a soft spot for seafood, anyway, so it suited her well enough.

Behind her, the bronze butt of the herald's staff cracked thrice against the stone floor, the noise echoing harshly throughout the room, and cleared his throat. "The members of the Noble Council of the Kingdom of Bodhum are gathered," he called, his voice pitched just so that it echoed as his staff had.

Though silently, the elder Farron sighed and pushed herself off from the edge of the window and all-but stalked to the empty chair waiting for her.

The entire chamber was more or less empty of furniture or hangings, except for the large oval table sitting in the exact center. On one of the rounded ends loomed the monarch's throne, an intricately carved chair with plush amethyst padding that stood half again as tall as a man. Across from it at the opposite tip of the oval was a similar seat, though smaller, only just as tall as Claire was. The carvings that ran in the wood on either side of the velvet cushions depicted the formation of the country in brief. Her thumbs and fingers had long ago memorized the story by feel alone, following the deeds of Odin, First King and Founder, as he carved a place for himself and his followers in what had once been the territory of Eden.

It was the smaller chair, that of the heiress apparent, that Claire settled herself easily into. Only when she had sat did the 16 people sitting 8 on either side also take their seats.

"Good morning, councilors," Claire greeted. Her voice was taut and sharp, and more than one of them seemed to flinch a little bit as she swept her gaze down first one side of the table and then the other. "For what purpose has _another_ special session of the council been called?"

They were universally older than her, most of them twice, or even a few who were thrice her age, and almost two-to-one composed of men. And every one of them looked between the rest of them, none appearing too willing to speak out first. Claire knew them all, knew them almost as well as family. Ever since she was old enough to be recognized as their heir, she had taken her place at the previously vacant council seat across from her father, and been included in the discussions. For all that it had been fully a _decade_ since her inclusion, many of them still seemed hesitant to invest in her the full responsibility of the heir, and acted a little skittish around her.

And the most frustrating part was that she couldn't figure out why. Bodhum had been ruled by a queen just a generation prior without problem. And the blessing of Anima, in the form of the Brand was _always_ considered a good thing, so it surely wasn't that.

One corner of Claire's lips twitched rebelliously as she remembered Serah suggesting that perhaps she simply acted too scary towards them. But that, she had assured her, was ridiculous. She acted that way to everyone.

Finally, one near the center of the table stood up, his hands braced against the table as if to support him. Claire sat back in her seat and folded her hands politely in her lap, both eyebrows raised in silent curiosity and indication to speak.

"We had initially meant to speak with you about the events, yesterday, with the young Villiers man, but this morning we received news of a more pressing sort. Your father bade us proceed without him, so..." His voice trailed off into silence as a few of the other councilors who had already heard the news nodded solemnly.

Claire arched an eyebrow at the balding man. _'More important than reprimanding me for knocking the Villiers oaf on his ass?'_ "And what news is that, Councilor Arem?"

He cleared his throat and stood up fully, finally, and tucked his hands behind his back. It made his growing belly stand out further, and was not the stance Claire would have taken with his girth, but it gave him a slightly stronger air of authority. When he continued, his voice had lost most of its waver. "We received a message from the border this morning, that an envoy from Holy Eden has just crossed, and is traveling on the West Straight for the capitol. They expect them to arrive in three days, at minimum."

A quiet murmur stirred the air, rising from those councilors who had not been informed already, and Claire frowned darkly down the table at Arem. His recently recovered confidence seemed to quiver, and he sidled uneasily toward the table once more, as if he wanted to sit but could not without her permission first.

And although she knew it was improper to shoot the messenger, it didn't stop Claire from wanting to let him stand for a little while longer. He looked like he could use the exercise, anyway. "Was there no word of what their business is?" Apart from her frown, she hoped there was nothing to communicate the unease she felt squirming in her stomach at the thought of a surprise visit by Eden. _That_ could be nothing but trouble and veiled threats, there was no doubt about that.

When silence followed, Claire's frown deepened while Arem's lips twitched strangely. Eventually, he decided on how to answer, apparently, and expelled the breath he had been holding in a sort of half-gasp before he could speak. "None, Highness. They are, ah, a woman only slightly older than Yourself, and a small retinue of Eden Regulars, by their uniform."

With some effort Claire withheld a sneer of frustration for the sniveling old man and instead waved a hand dismissively at him. He reclaimed his seat with surprising agility and slumped into the chair with an audible sigh of relief, even from halfway down the table. Placing her hands on the arms of her chair, Claire pulled herself up to military rigidity in the throne, gaining a few inches in the process, and looked down at the far end of the table, to the right of where her father would have normally been sitting. "Councilor Kyra, what is the precedent for the reception of such a party?"

The oldest of all council members, the tiny woman had to speak up a great deal for Claire to hear her from across the room, but her answer was quick and concise as she related similar events in the past. The princess paid only half a mind to the explanation though; more of her attention, though less obviously, was focused on the other councilors, trying to judge their moods and reactions toward her.

Arem was an unusual outlier in the way he seemed to actively _fear_ the elder Farron. The rest treated her mostly distantly or uneasily, but with the respect her position accorded her. Though concerned, they did not fear her, but rather worried for her tendency to resort to simple, close-at-hand solutions rather than longer term diplomatic ones. It was a problem her father had related to her a number of times, and one that was not likely to be resolved before his passing. It was a better explanation Serah's, at any rate. But, to her way of thinking, that was why there was a council. To temper the monarch's will with reason, or to spur a reluctant one to action. At least, among other more mundane tasks.

And if they had a problem with how she had treated the Villiers oaf, they had set it aside in light of the new and much bigger problem.

When Kyra paused for a breath, one of the younger councilors, a woman with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, raised a hand for permission to speak. Before Kyra could continue, Claire nodded to the younger woman, Councilor Vaughn.

"We cannot, of course, skimp on the reception of the Eden delegate, but what is the protocol for reconciling her reception with the prospective Marquess from Palumpolum?"

'_Fal'Cie take these twice-dammed marriage preparations!'_ Claire ground her teeth as murmured conversation rose in answer, and across the table Kyra closed her mouth and slumped in her chair, appearing either asleep or deeply in thought. It really was more a question for her than anyone else, despite that it had been addressed to Claire out of respect for the heir.

And to make thinking about the other new marriage prospects filing in worse than it was to begin with, she was additionally forced to listen to all the details of who would be seated where, who would have which conversation responsibilities, what sort of entertainments were appropriate for both audiences, and how to arrange private meetings with each without snubbing the other. Kyra seemed to be the only one enjoying herself, likely as there was little use for her elsewise. Unlike many of the councilors she did not represent a particular part of the population or a district of territory. These big events were her time to shine.

Lunch came and went as they prepared, with servants bringing in trays stacked with food for all of them, and by the time daylight began to wane and preparations were complete, Claire had emptied a jug of wine by herself and begun working on a third. It helped to dull the boredom, but it didn't do much for her general awareness. Despite her rank, her input was limited to nothing more than simply confirming suggestions and giving spoken permission for access to the treasury for such and such amounts.

Nothing, she was positive, that couldn't be submitted in a document for her or her father to simply read, then sign and pass on. _'I _could_ have used the afternoon for lancework,'_ she mused as she stared out the window that faced the declining sun. _'Since Fang stayed here, it would have been ideal.'_ The armsmaster had declared her proficient in the sword when she was barely out of girlhood, but that had simply meant to her father that she could focus more time on the classes about politics and governance. He had limited her time such that she could only keep her swordwork from getting rusty, rather than learning a new skill. She had _just_ found time in her schedule to learn a new weapon, with Fang offering to teach her, and then the whole damned marriage thing...

A tap at her shoulder nearly sent her jumping up out of her chair, but she restrained herself. And immediately made a mental note that a jug was too much wine to keep her senses reasonably sharp; she _should_ have heard him creep up.

Standing just behind and to one side of her chair stood the very footman she had selected before reporting in to the council room, though he looked significantly more tired than he had that morning. So, too, Claire assumed, did she. "His Highness and Princess Serah are within half a candlemark of the gates," he informed her in a whisper pitched so she and she alone could hear.

The room itself seemed to brighten with the knowledge that she could _leave_ the damned meeting momentarily. Claire nodded at the man, gratitude and dismissal all in one, and turned back to the table. When she placed her hands on the dark stained wood, the room fell silent, and by the time she had pushed herself to her feet, all eyes were back on her. "Council members, I move to adjourn until tomorrow, when my father will be able to attend for the final details." Her voice carried easily through the chamber, the most she had said at any one time since lunch had been brought in. "He will return shortly from his ride among the citizens, and will likely be too weary to burden with the details tonight."

She considered waiting for them all to agree to adjournment, but decided against it. "You are all dismissed. Good evening." Short and curt, Claire considered her social obligations ended, and without waiting for a reaction she stepped out from in front of her chair, spun smartly on one heel, and stalked rapidly across the stone floor to the door.

Between the more restrictive gown she had chosen for the day's meeting, one specifically designed to look regal and stiff, and the comfortable indoor slippers she wore, it took Claire a good deal of time to get out of the administration tower and down into the courtyard. For a moment she entertained the thought of going to greet her father and sister as they came in, but decided against it. It would be too far to walk, and too much trouble to comfortably sit a horse in the tight material that restrained her from moving any one limb too far.

No, far better would be to get a head start on having the promised bath prepared, and dinner to be brought up to Serah's rooms. She would leave it to one of the councilors to brief her father on the deal with their visitor. They would remember far more about the day's deliberations than she would, anyway. Pink hair flowing behind her with the speed of her pace, Claire turned her steps toward the center tower, the residential one.

* * *

"That feels perfect; thank you, Vanille." Claire offered her a small, rare, smile as she wiped her fingers on one of the many towels hung on a small brass rack that had sat beside the tub.

Vanille answered with a grin and a curtsy before standing up straight again. "Will there be anything else, Princess?" Claire couldn't help but notice, as she always did it seemed, how eternally chipper the younger girl seemed. She practically _chirped_ when she spoke. If it weren't for the thought of seeing Serah so shortly having already raised her flagging spirits somewhat, just talking to Vanille would have helped some. It was difficult to remain stiff and mildly displeased around one with such a sunny disposition.

"No, thank you. Just bring our dinner in, when it's done."

The servant nodded and curtsied to Claire again before retreating out of Serah's bathing room and into the living area. When she was gone and the door closed behind her, Claire relaxed back into the lacquered wooden chair behind the vast tub and sighed. Even just the steam and warmth radiating from the great tub was relaxing; the water would be far more enjoyable. It would have felt even better if she'd gotten to do something other than sit for the entire day, but she put such laments to the side.

Though it was a black thought to consider, it seemed likely she would have no time for such things as weapons training until the marriage nonsense was decided.

She didn't have too long to let her thoughts fall back into that galling abyss, fortunately, as the door squeaked open a scant few minutes later and her sister slipped inside. Vanille had already helped her out of the riding clothing she had slipped early that morning, and the girl wore instead a thick white robe that made her look nearly twice as wide as she did without it. Claire was on her feet like the Lightning she was occasionally referred to as, and crossed the room to draw her into an embrace.

An awkward, bulky embrace considering her bathrobe, but an embrace nonetheless. It wasn't until she buried her face in the recently-freed soft pink hair that it struck her how desperately she had been waiting for this. Not entirely on account of the council meeting, but what it represented. A proper marriage, to a man, and much further limitation on how often she and Serah could be together.

The hug became almost crushing without her realizing it, until Serah pushed away from her a little bit and Claire blinked down at her in surprise. She didn't say anything, but Claire caught the look of physical discomfort as she wriggled a little, and realized how hard she was holding her, and abruptly released her. She stammered an apology as she turned around and busied herself with picking up towels and laying them over one arm, and then piling them up in easy reach of the bath tub.

"Did something happen?" The weight of Serah's hand on Claire's shoulder slowed the awkwardly hurried movements, and the taller Farron looked back over her shoulder and offered a hesitantly apologetic smile.

'_Thinking about it too much, Farron,'_ she chided herself sharply. Dwelling on it and ruining what time they had was a damn foolish move. "I just missed you." She hoped it sounded like a verbal shrug, but it was hard to be sure. The last thing she wanted to do was make _Serah_ think about it more than she had to, too. "That's all."

It apparently did not sound plausible enough, the way Serah pursed her lips into a pout she had to know that Claire couldn't resist, and furrowed delicate brows at her. And when those cerulean pools had _that_ glint in them, Claire knew Serah's stubbornness was on the surface and ready to show. The younger girl said nothing, simply glared up at her sister until Claire laid the last of the towels down, reached out to place her hands on her shoulders, and forcibly turned her back toward the tub.

Serah squeaked a protest, but Claire ignored it as her hands moved down the girl's arms and then slipped around her waist. The belt around her robe came undone easily, and the elder Farron opened the robe and helped Serah shrug out of it. "How was your ride?" To her silent amusement, her voice had gone a tiny bit hoarse, a little raspy, as she looked back from the hook she had hung the robe on to Serah, standing with her back to her, naked.

She stepped up close behind her sister and wrapped her arms around her waist again, this time simply to hold her, and pulled her tight against herself. Claire could see, out of the corner of her eye as she nuzzled Serah's cheek with her own from behind, that she was still pouting, but if Claire couldn't see it directly it didn't tug quite so hard on her good sense. But still Serah tried a little longer before finally giving up. "Long. And sore."

The younger girl leaned back against her sister, surrendering herself fully to her and letting Claire hold her up, and sighed a little bit. "I just want to take a bath and go to bed. And eat. I'm hungry, too." Claire chuckled quietly beside her ear and placed a kiss on on her temple.

"How convenient, then, that a hot bath is drawn," Claire replied with exaggeratedly dry humor coloring her voice.

Serah giggled and clasped her hands over top of Claire's and gave them a squeeze. "I love you, Claire," she murmured quietly, her tone soft and vulnerable in a way that made the older girl falter. It didn't quite sound the same as any time Serah had ever said it before, but she couldn't place why. It made her throat dry and her heart pound, and made her want to sweep her off her feet and take her someplace far away, for just the two of them.

Which she had considered many a time in the past, but there was just something so _wonderful_ in the way she had said it, it overran everything else to leave her mind blank but of that little fantasy-

And then Serah gently extricated herself from her sister's arms and stepped into the high tub stiffly; she was most definitely sore from the extended time riding, it looked. The lack of Serah in her arms did a lot to snap Claire out of the unintentional reverie, and she stepped around to the other side of the roughly oval-shaped tub. She had undressed down to her shift some time before, and slithered out of it easily and without preamble. Careful not to make the tub overflow, she swung first one leg into the water, and then the other before finally sliding down into the neck-deep water.

If it were anyone but Serah with her, she would have been embarrassed by the happy little moan that escaped her tight control as she sank down further so that the water lapped at her nose, and closed her eyes. The water sloshed about, splashing as high as her forehead, before she felt the brush of Serah's legs against hers, and then felt the weight of the smaller girl leaning back against her, sitting between Claire's legs. Without her needing to ask, Claire wrapped her arms around Serah's shoulders and drew her in tight. Her sister hummed a pleasant little song to herself as she cuddled against Claire, and the elder Farron tuned out the entirety of the rest of the world.

At least, for a few brief moments.

"What was the council meeting today for?"

'_She has no idea,'_ Claire observed tranquilly. She was too casual, too chipper about it to know what had come up. "Originally it was to be a reprimand for laying the Villiers oaf flat." When Serah giggled, Claire silently congratulated herself on getting just the perfect level of casualness in her tone about the whole affair. "But this morning, word arrived that an envoy from Eden has just passed our border."

Serah stilled and looked back over her shoulder at Claire, delicate brows furrowed into a concerned frown. "From Eden? Why?"

"They sent no word about why, or even that they were coming," the elder Farron answered with a small shrug as she reached for the little clay pot that held their shampoo. "Probably this marriage farce." When she was with Serah, she generally tried not to let how much it galled her show too much, but the catch in her throat must have been more than usual, as Serah shrunk back more tightly against her and caught up one of her hands in her own and threaded their fingers together. As she scooped out a palmful of shampoo, Claire squeezed her sister's fingers reassuringly.

"A marriage with Father as old and feeble as he is now means a power transition soon, and those _always_ have a period of instability following them. Even if the new monarch is well loved," which she knew she wasn't. It didn't bother her very much, as she didn't _try_ to make herself beloved. Better, she believed, to be respected and viewed as flawed than to be loved and allow people to get their expectations beyond what a human could deliver.

"We did the same thing, recently," she continued as she brought her hand over near Serah with rock steady control that lost not a drop of shampoo. "Duck." Obediently, Serah took in a deep breath of air and then slipped under the water entirely, though she didn't release Claire's hand. A few heartbeats later, she popped back up, sending water sloshing onto the floor, and Claire extricated her hand so that she could use both to start working the shampoo into Serah's hair. "That delegate we sent to Oerba a few years ago was there to observe the transition of power."

Despite Claire's hands briskly working at her hair, Serah turned again to look over her shoulder, cerulean eyes both concerned and slightly accusatory. "But _not_ for purposes of conquering. _Right?"_

'_All the more reason I have to do this,'_ Claire reflected as she offered Serah a small smile. _'She's too innocent to rule, too sweet.'_ Reinforcing that knowledge with moments like these made the entire deal a little easier to bear with, at least. "I wasn't as involved with the council and things then, so I can't say for sure. It was probably a possibility, though a small one."

"But Fang and Vanille-"

"Are safe and sound because it didn't come to that," Claire answered, cutting her off before she could think too much about it. "Rinse."

Serah looked doubtful but ducked into the water again, leaving a big mound of sudsy bubbles where she had been. Claire swept them away toward the other end of the tub and tapped Serah's shoulder beneath the water, and her little sister popped back up again with a short gasp for breath.

"Now, up." No further explanation was needed, and Serah gripped either edge of the tub and pulled herself up half out of the water until Claire pressed her legs together underneath her and Serah settled down onto her lap so she was sitting half out of the water. The smaller girl made a noise that was half a hiss, and then half turned into a sigh as she settled against Claire, and the older Farron frowned a little bit. _'She really _is_ sore.'_

As Claire lathered up a soft wash cloth, Serah relaxed back against her, her fingers trailing up and down along her older sister's thighs. "I hope you won't ever do anything like that..." she murmured, just loud enough for Claire to hear.

With a little sigh, Claire used one bubble-covered hand to move Serah's damp hair aside and pressed a kiss to her back, then laid her forehead against the warm skin. "So do I."

They both fell to silence as Claire scrubbed gently from waist to neck, until Serah's skin glowed once more. Unlike so many of their baths, she didn't spend as much as time teasing or titillating the younger girl; Serah seemed much too sore to want to do anything. It was far harder to resist once Serah moved to the little shelf on one of the long edges of the tub, sitting so that she was almost entirely out of the water, except for her calves. Despite arranging herself between the younger girl's legs, presented with a temptation she rarely managed to resist, Claire dutifully did nothing more than wash her. Once all the suds had been rinsed away, she set herself to the task of massaging the soreness and stiffness from her sister's legs, as much to hear the little appreciative, almost orgasmic, noises as to ease the pain.

By the time she was done, Serah was practically in a liquid state herself.

'_I imagine Vanille thinks we've both died,'_ the heiress reflected wryly as Serah sunk back into the water with a quiet sigh. It was normally _far_ noisier in the bath, and much more fun, but tonight was proving to be another quiet evening.

While Serah half-dozed in the water, Claire washed herself off with brisk efficiency, taking less than a third as long as she had bathing Serah. Normally they washed each other (at the start, at least) but Claire was content to hurry things along so that Serah could get to bed.

It was a companionable silence in which Vanille came in once called for and helped them both dry off and dress, then shuffled them off to bed while Lebreau set about draining the tub and returning the bathing room to its former crisp glory.

Serah managed to remain awake long enough to eat the meal that had been laid out for them beside them bed, and to tell Claire about the ride and her day with their father now that she could focus on something other than the soreness, before falling asleep. For the second time in as many days, she was out almost the moment her head touched the pillow. Claire laid awake, though, at first just watching her sleep, and then staring at the bed's canopy as she waited to fall asleep herself.

Waiting to meet the prospective would-be husband from Palumpolum had been bad enough in itself, but now there was the additional burden of Holy Eden's eyes on the entire thing, having to project an air of complete and utter peace and control...

Things like punching the little bastard wouldn't fly nearly as well as they did with Snow Villiers, unfortunately. She racked her memories for what she remembered of the Palumpolum Marquess, but fell short on all but knowing he was a good deal younger than she. And that his title was all for show. His father had inherited one of the five Duchies not long after he was born, and as the son of the Duke he held the honorary title of Marquess, but likely had similar grooming as she herself did: preparation to rule.

And maybe he was wonderful. Young, but he would grow out of that. But even if he were the perfect husband someday, he wasn't Serah. Claire looked away from the thick material of the canopy and back to Serah, snuggled up against her side, curled into a little ball with her legs tucked up halfway to her chest. She sucked in a deep breath and swallowed a lump that had mysteriously appeared in her throat and turned over in bed to wrap her arms around the sleeping form of her sister and pull her closer.

At least she could hold her now. Any time not spent making the best of that was time wasted in the worst way possible. And when she was holding Serah, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the beat of her heart, it was easier to delude herself that maybe she wouldn't _have_ to marry someone. That they would all be critically unsuitable and she could come to power by herself. And easier to ignore the dark lining of that dream, wherein _Serah_ would be forced to marry to continue the bloodline.

Sleep came easier with the warmth of her sister in her arms and the illusion of a happier future, and Claire was finally able to surrender herself to its inviting depths.


End file.
